


Operation Arrowhead

by the_painsmokers



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_painsmokers/pseuds/the_painsmokers
Summary: Oliver Queen is an elite espionage agent, operating for CIA. He leads a covert team nicknamed Operation Arrowhead, the men and women who do the jobs that others can't-or won't. But when Arrowhead is dispatched to Qurac, the mission spirals wildly out of control. Can Oliver keep his team alive and unravel the corruption and violence that is threatening everything he knows? AU.





	1. Chapter 1

            Oliver Queen shifted the papers he was perusing and stacked them together, neatly sliding them into the small briefcase that he had kept as a carry-on for the flight into Qurac. It was funny. The airlines were so adamant of checking him for metal, anything that could potentially be used as a weapon. But they hadn’t even given a second look at the paperwork he carried with him.

            So few people understood that at times, there was no weapon deadlier than a piece of paper. Though perhaps that was wrong—it wasn’t the paper itself that would do the damage. It was the writing that the paper could contain.

            Oliver was an agent of the CIA, and so he was well-versed in how damaging a piece of paper could be. Truth be told, the papers that he had with him weren’t dangerous in and of themselves. They simply contained information on the country of Qurac, statistics about its people and important locations, including Dhabar, the capital, where Oliver’s flight would be landing.

            He checked his watch, a large silver-banded timepiece that accented his tightly-fitting suit perfectly. They would begin their descent at any moment. He reviewed the next few steps in his head. After landing, he would rendezvous with John Diggle, his partner, and make their way to the safehouse that had been assigned to them.

            They wouldn’t be alone. Clandestine as the operation was, there were others that would be working with them. Felicity Smoak, their tech analyst, for one. Ray Palmer, her partner, had come along as well.

            Oliver snapped his briefcase shut. They were all part of Operation Arrowhead, a task force given the explicit tasks of executing counterterrorism ops by whatever means necessary. Officially, they didn’t exist. Unofficially, they were ruthlessly efficient, ever since they had been formed and Oliver placed as the ranking agent for the operating team. Sometimes, they would have new members assigned. Sometimes they were given a pool to choose from. Even with the amount of oversight they had, there were still circumstances where they needed to answer to a higher power. It burned Oliver up, in some cases. Good enough to do the dirty work, but not good enough to handle all of their own decisions.

            The pilot delivered some rote message over the intercom about how the plane would be landing soon and all passengers should make the necessary preparations.

            He breathed deeply and leaned back into his seat. This was the final stage where something could go wrong before they were officially in the country. He doubted that anyone had made him as CIA, but stranger things than that had happened. Qurac was dangerous territory. Officially, it was a major opponent of the US. And while nothing had been officially proven yet, there were a heavy number of allegations that suggested state sanctioned military groups in Qurac were actually responsible for a number of US directed terror attacks.

            But that wasn’t why Oliver and the rest of Arrowhead was there. No, this wasn’t something as altruistic as that. They were there for intelligence. Recon and information gathering, alongside a bit of espionage. It was par for the course for Oliver and his team.

            The landing gear disengaged and Oliver braced himself for what would likely be a rough landing. The puddlejumper he had taken into Qurac did not look particularly stable.

            The truth was that Oliver was more used to wetwork. Violence. Assassination and wholesale destruction. It was an uncomfortable truth, but one that needed to exist. Someone needed to do these things. And he didn’t trust anyone else in that sort of position.

            The plane touched down and Oliver bounced slightly with the impact of the gear on the tarmac.

            “Welcome to Qurac,” the pilot said. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

***

            The safe house was nothing special, as far as safe houses went. It looked safe, and it was a house. That was all Oliver could ask for. He had exited the airport and headed straight there, making contact with no one, as was protocol. If someone _was_ watching him—which they weren’t—they wouldn’t see anything unusual. Just a visitor, likely staying in a rented house.

            The inside was different than the tan-colored outside, however. Or perhaps, more accurately, the basement was different. The CIA had furnished the house with a ops center in the basement, a more secure area for the storing of munitions, tech, and other gear. There were rows of weapons cases—including a complex looking compound bow, something that Oliver had requested on every mission since the island—as well as masses of computer banks.

            There was a figure sitting in front of the computer banks, staring intently at the screen. Female, blonde. Hair pulled up in a ponytail, leaning in close to examine data and figures that likely only she would understand.

            She hadn’t heard him come in, and he didn’t want to startle her. Felicity was… easily excitable. He cleared his throat. She whipped around in her chair. “Oliver!”

            “Felicity.” Oliver nodded in her direction, then moved to place his bags down.

            “God, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She paused and looked momentarily mortified. “Just because, you know, I was worried that you might be late or our timetable might be off or maybe that they’d detained you at the airport…”

            “Felicity?” Oliver looked at her with an amused expression.

She stopped talking, lips pressed tightly together.

“I’m glad to see you too,” he said, moving over to the computer banks. “What do we have?”

She turned back to the monitors, seemingly relieved to not have to address her previous outburst. “Diggle should be here soon, Ray a little bit after. There was talk of the Agency setting us up with more contacts, if needed, but you know how that is.”            

Oliver nodded. Stingy, at best. “Any activity we should know about?”

Felicity spun back to Oliver. “That’s the thing. This place has been dead. I mean, as dead as the capital of an anti-US state can possibly be. There hasn’t been a single thing, data or otherwise, that has given even the slightest indication that there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“But there _is_ something out of the ordinary, right?”

“That’s what the Agency told us. Coded information, likely related to the sale of weapons and explosive equipment, is supposed to be changing hands here. But it’s not. Unless they’ve created some kind of code that I can’t crack. And you know they haven’t done that.”

Oliver cocked his head. Felicity wasn’t bragging—the code she couldn’t crack didn’t exist yet. “Hard copies? Being passed somewhere out of sight?”             Felicity nodded, conceding the point. “Possible. But we’ve been monitoring banking activity for the country—”

“We have the jurisdiction to do that?”

“Absolutely not, but the job still needs to be done, right? Anyway, I’ve been watching the major players of Qurac, as well as offshore accounts tied to them. There’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

That was worrying and it suggested two things. Either they were acting on bad intel, or someone knew they were watching. Or that Felicity was wrong, but that was unlikely.

Normally, operatives in a situation like this would contact headquarters, but that wasn’t an option for Oliver and his team. They were deniable—inserted with minimal support and no back-up. If something went wrong, they were on their own. They needed to maintain communication silence until they were back in the states and being debriefed.

            With all of that being said, sometimes putting boots on the ground, doing actual fieldwork, was a better solution than working from behind a desk. Not that there was anything wrong with the way Felicity did things. It was just that there would never be a replacement for being out there, performing operations with your own hands and your own hardware.

            The sealed door to the basement ops center opened, and Oliver whirled towards it. There was no need. He recognized the heavy footfalls before the figure even came into view.

            “Diggle.” Oliver greeted his longtime friend with a firm handshake. The two had been working together for some time now, ever since Oliver had made it back from the island. The brass had thought it smart to give him an older, more experienced partner. Diggle had turned over operational command almost immediately. His reason was classic John Diggle: nothing more complicated than the fact that he was better off being the guy watching everyone else’s back.

            Oliver agreed. Digg had saved all of their lives too many times to count by now, and there was no doubt that it would continue.

            “Good to see you, man,” said Diggle. “Glad you made it in. You too, Felicity.”

            “Felicity was just catching me up on the sit-rep,” Oliver said. “Things are… complicated. Or at the very least, a little more difficult than expected.”

            Diggle raised an eyebrow. “Care to fill me in?”

            Felicity snapped off a mock salute. It _was_ impressively crisp though.

            “Oliver, you’ll be pleased to know that Palmer is here, too,” Diggle said, grinning slightly.            

            Oliver winced, almost imperceptibly, though he was sure Diggle saw it. “You know this how?”

            “Spotted him half a mile from the house. He thought he was being clever. Just not quite as clever as he though.”

            Oliver shook his head. “What else is new?”            

            “Be nice!” Felicity pointed a stern finger at Oliver. “I don’t know what your problem is with Ray, but he’s—”

            “I don’t have a problem with Ray,” Oliver sighed. “It’s just—Never mind. I’ll head up and scope out the rest of the house.”

            Felicity’s attention had already drifted back to the monitors. “Mhm. No fighting up there. Oh, and I already claimed my bedroom. The rest of you can arm wrestle or whatever it is you boys do to decide arguments.”

            “As long as I’m not with Palmer, I don’t care where I am,” Oliver muttered.

            “What was that?”

            “Nothing!” ***

            Oliver really _didn’t_ hate Ray Palmer. It was quite likely that no one hated Ray. How could you? With his schoolboy youthful good looks, winning attitude, endless positivity, and—Oliver had to admit—genuine skill at what he did, Ray was the kind of person everyone liked.

            Which may have explained why Oliver had such a hard time getting along with him. There had always been tension between them, and it had only seemed to grow with every mission. The fundamental differences between the two of them were just too great. Where Ray was cheery and bright, Oliver was… not. Did he envy Ray’s optimism? Oliver told himself (and everyone else) that wasn’t the case. Sometimes he wasn’t so sure.

            Oliver looked inside the fridge and pulled out a bottle of mineral water, then walked to the small and shabbily furnished living room, sitting down on the couch. It felt too small beneath him, but there was something comfortably mundane about… just sitting. Not thinking about cover stories or violence or any of that…

            There was a time before this was his life. What was that like? Since he’d come back from the island, it had become harder and harder to remember.

            The door opened and Ray stepped. “Oh, hey, Oliver!”            

            “Ray.” Oliver nodded, a little more gruffly than intended.

            “Am I late?”

            “Well, you’re the last one here.”

            “Damn. And here I was thinking I was being clever. Bright side is, I’m not being tailed.”

            “They’re all in the basement,” Oliver said, already a little worn out by Ray’s overly energetic demeanor. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

            “You’re not coming?”            

             “Felicity already briefed me. I have a lot to think about.”

            “Well, you’re the boss. I’ll catch you later.” Ray shrugged and moved toward the basement door.

            Oliver watched him activate the hidden biometric scanner and disappear into the darkness. What Felicity had told him was unsettling. Did someone know they were there? If so, why had no one stopped their flights or done anything to detain them? Ray had been right about one thing at least—they hadn’t been tailed. Oliver was no amateur. He knew when someone was following him, and that just hadn’t been the case.

            So what then? Things were going to get more complicated than expected, but that was par for the course in this business. They could handle it. They’d done it before.

            Oliver opened up the front door and sat down on the front steps leading to the safehouse. They were tan and wind-worn, just like so much else of Dhabar. There was money in the city, but it seemed that most of it hadn’t reached down to the less prominent districts. Oliver had yet to see any of it.

            The street was alive and busy in a way that US cities just couldn’t seem to replicate. There was a kind of organic feeling to it, a kind of liveliness and connectedness that Star City, Oliver’s hometown, would never quite have. There was something about the way the people looked at one another, the feeling of community they had—

            The way each and every person on the street was trying so very hard to not make eye contact with him. Oliver stood up and backed in towards the house. He opened the door and slid inside, then stood on the other side of it.

            He ran for the basement door, but he was too late. A massive explosion rocked the apartment, sending the front door flying down the hallway and blowing out the walls surrounding Oliver.

            “Oliver!”

            He heard Diggle’s full-throated scream come from behind the sealed door.

            Oliver stumbled forward, his vision blurry, his ears ringing. There was smoke and fire wreathing his head; his eyes were burning, filling with tears now.

            “Go!” Oliver choked out.

            A second explosion blasted in from the living room and the wall Oliver was leaning on threw him into the basement door. He pushed himself up on his forearms, struggling to breathe, knowing that if he didn’t get on his feet _right now_ , he’d be dead in seconds.

            There was screaming, and he couldn’t tell from who. Was it Diggle? Was it Ray? God help him, was it Felicity?

            He tugged his sidearm out his belt and fell heavily onto his side, trying to see through the smoke and debris. There were figures moving, weaving in and out, but he couldn’t tell who they were. It was too risky for him to shoot, he could easily hit one of his friends without even realizing it.

            The sound of gunfire erupted from only a few feet away, sounding louder than the initial explosions. The ringing in his hears grew to deafening levels.

            “Felicity!”

            “—down!” he could hear a male voice, as if it was coming from miles away.

            Oliver rolled and scrambled to his feet. Bullets slammed into the wall next to his head, just above his right shoulder. He pointed his sidearm in the direction that the bullets had come from and fired, pulling the trigger three times in rapid succession.

            He moved sideways, swaying on his feet, staying low and crouched. The smoke was starting to clear, and he could almost make out the hostiles that were approaching. They were masked, wearing what looked like some sort of hazard helmet and black body armor. Professionals.

            _This doesn’t add up._

A hand grabbed Oliver’s shoulder and he spun. It was Ray. He was shouting something at Oliver, but Oliver could barely make out the words.

            “—go now! There’s no—!” The rest of the words were drowned out in a hail of gunfire, but Oliver had heard enough. He ducked his head and ran towards the now gaping hole that once had been the basement door.

            _Someone knew we were going to be here. Someone wanted us all in one location._

_Someone is trying to kill Operation Arrowhead._

            The gunfire continued as they disappeared into the stairs. Ray dropped a small metallic cylinder behind them on the stairs. It sat there for a moment than erupted into a jetting cloud of smoke. Ray had his hand on Oliver’s back, ushering him down the stairs.

            Oliver didn’t know where they were going to go. There was an exit in the basement and hopefully Diggle and Felicity had already gotten out, but if the attackers knew as much as they seemed to, then they would more than likely have that exit covered.

            “Who are they?” Oliver choked out.

            Ray shook his head. “Don’t know. They’re professional. Not military issued weapons.”

            A privately contracted hit? Or some sort of black ops team?

            The mission parameters had changed drastically.

            “Felicity has the car ready, they won’t follow us out into the street.”

            Oliver wanted to respond to that, to explain that they couldn’t know that for certain, that if the attackers had been so brazen as to demolish an entire house, then there was no telling what they would do.

            But even more than that, he wanted to hope. He wanted to believe that they could leave the house, make their way into the streets, and begin to plan their next move.

            He opened his mouth to agree with Ray, and only coughed, struggling to keep his balance, moving closer to the near blinding light of the sun from outside, a bright white flash that seemed to go on and on forever, so similar to a stroke of lightning that had nearly blinded him years ago, when he had only just received his first assignment from the agency…


	2. Chapter 002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find out about Oliver's first mission for the Agency... and how he came to Lian Yu.

            The storm started with almost no warning. They had been expecting it, of course. It had been charted on radar and they were well-prepared for it. But the sky didn’t grow dark until nearly seconds before the waves starting thrashing and the rainwater started lashing out sideways.

            The boat rocked, throwing Oliver from side to side. He would be lying if he didn’t admit it scared him. It was his first official mission for the CIA, and the weight of that responsibility was weighing heavily on his shoulders.

            Lian Yu. An island in the middle of the North China sea, it was known for being completely unknown. He had never heard of it. His partner had never heard of it either, which was a statement, because Sara Lance was everything a CIA agent should be. Smart, dangerous, and able to do whatever it took to get the job.

            She was younger than him but had already been on two missions prior. He was comfortable admitting that she did the job better than he did. Still, he was uncertain as to why they had been put on a mission together. Surely the brass knew of their… extracurricular activities.

            There was a knock on his small cabin door and he lifted his head. “Come in.”

            The door swung open a crack, revealing the smirking face of Sara. “You need some company? Wouldn’t want you getting scared in here by yourself.”

            “I’ll never say no to that.”

            Oliver liked Sara. A lot. Sure, their relationship was complicated. He had dated her sister in the past before… well, before that had ended painfully. He had known the Lance’s his entire life as well and dating a fellow agent (if you could really call it dating) was anathema.

            But still. She was beautiful; she was funny. She made him feel like the American James Bond. One of these days he’d figure out what it was that they were doing. Or maybe he’d even

ask her, and wouldn’t _that_ be a crazy idea?

            She slid into the room and closed the door behind us.

            “How’s the captain?” Oliver asked, referring to the man the agency had provided to navigate the boat.

            Sara shrugged. She was wearing a white tank-top and tiny black shorts. Oliver had trouble focusing on her answer. “He didn’t seem too concerned. Said this sort of thing happened all the time.”

            “Does it?” Oliver said wryly.

            “Doubt it. But we’ll be fine.”

            Oliver laid back on his bed and brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes. “Do you get a weird feeling about this assignment?”

            Sara set herself down on the bed next to him. “That’s called nerves, Ollie. We’re going to be fine.”

            He wished he believed her. Not that she was wrong—this was only natural. But that didn’t mean he was able to internalize the things she was saying to him.

            “We’ve trained for all this,” she said. “We’ll be back in the states before you even know it.”

            There was a sort of ease to their conversation, the words flowed as if they meant nothing. Even so, there was no mistaking what they were there to do. They were there to stop a very dangerous man.

            It seemed strange, perhaps, that such a mission would lead them to Lian Yu. It was remote, known by few, for there was nothing there of note. A few minor battles had occurred in the area over the centuries, but even that history left nothing to be desired by most individuals. That being said, such seclusion granted a bit of merit to any who might seek a place far from prying eyes.

            Men like Eddie Fyers.

            Fyers was ex-CIA, a man of great skill and intellect and even greater ambition. He had never been content to be an agent of a greater good, and he wished only to serve himself. Oliver had never known the man, but he had heard the stories. Of a shocking betrayal that left the agency with a gaping hole in their safety and intelligence, one that threatened the peace of the United States and the world as a whole.

            When he had been assigned the mission along with Sara, Oliver had been confused. Why them? Surely there were more qualified, experienced choices? He hadn’t asked such a thing, of course. That would be no way to react to his first official assignment. The question lingered nonetheless.

            Sara had tried to explain it away—she was something of a rising star, and everyone knew of the rapport she had with Oliver. It wasn’t illogical.

            Oliver had other questions—what would happen after they detained Fyers? He _had_ tried asking that question but had received no straightforward answers. In a way, that came as a relief. He knew his job would lead him into murky waters, but there were some things that he knew he was not yet prepared for.

            He put his hands behind his head and let himself relax. “At least we’re here together.”

            He was confident about one thing. Whatever came at them, they could handle it. Sara and Oliver, an unstoppable, inseparable team.

***

            The explosion happened hours after Oliver had drifted off to sleep. It happened so fast, too fast for him to gain any stock of the situation, any time for him to prepare. There was no warning, no sign that anything was wrong.

            Oliver tumbled out of the cabin bed, sirens blaring. The smell of smoke was already reaching his nose. “Sara!”

            She wasn’t there. He was surprised by this—she had likely gone back to her own cabin after he had fallen asleep. But what—

            _“Sara!”_ he could barely hear the sound of his voice over the blasting of the alarms.

            He stumbled into the hallway, throwing on clothing has he went.

            _No._

            The hallway was filled with water, almost up to his shins.

            They were taking water. They were sinking. Oliver needed to find the captain, he needed to find Sara, and he needed to find a way to get them to the lifeboats.

            _Sara can take care of herself._

            It was a thought that should have done something to comfort him, but it brought him nothing at all. There were too many questions. What had happened? And accident? An attack? The storm?

            “Ollie!”

            Oliver pushed through the rising water, around the cabin corridor. Sara was standing, leaning on a wall, exhausted. She was in full mission attire.

            “What—?”

            Sara shook her head. “Couldn’t sleep. There’s no time. Ollie, this wasn’t an accident. There was something in the engine room. The captain is missing. I don’t—”

            “The captain isn’t missing.” Sara spun as the door to a storage room slid open behind her.  

            The man standing there was dressed very differently than he had been the last time Oliver had seen him. Then, he had been wearing a simple blue uniform. Now, he was dressed in black tactical gear and was pointing a gun directly at Sara’s head.

            “You’re coming with me,” the captain said.

            Sara raised a hand and took a step forward. The captain shook his head. “I don’t think so. No closer. I only need one of you.”

            Oliver clenched his fists and felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. “What did you do?”

            “I laughed n the face of the arrogance that you and yours have shown for so long. This way.”

***

            The captain, who Oliver now knew was one of Fyer’s men, led them to the two small lifeboats that were docked in the side of the ship. Oliver didn’t understand what the plan was. Take them to the island this way? The sinking of the ship was obvious—make the agency think they had died in an accident, or at the very least, deprive them of their supplies and equipment.

            Sara was walking beside Oliver, a few paces in front of the captain. All they needed to do was disarm him, but that was easier said than done. A few feet might as well have been a mile with the gun in play.

            Sara nudged him with an elbow.

            “When I turn,” she whispered, “run.”

            Oliver looked at her with confusion. What was she going to do—?  
            _No!_

            Sara dropped to the ground, splashing in the water, and threw herself at the captain. He staggered back a few steps, surprised by the sudden and vicious movement, and fired. The bullet tore past Sara and Oliver, kicking up the water which was now knee-height.

            “Go!” Sara screamed. “Run, Ollie!”

            There was only a moment of hesitation. He had little choice. Sara was on the man, driving him into the water, and the sirens were still sharp in his ears. “I’ll find you!” Sara shouted. “Go now!”  
            He ran. Every step he took only increased the guilt and regret by a thousandfold. He was afraid. He was afraid, and he left his partner—his friend—someone he loved—to face disaster by herself.

            _I should go back._

            _I can’t go back._

There was another explosion, one that felt nearer and nearly pitched him headfirst into the rising water. There was no time. Sara would make it. There were two lifeboats. She was strong; she was capable, even more than he.

            He climbed the stairs to the main deck, to unlash the lifeboat, to make his way into the tumultuous storm. Alone.

            _Sara._

***

            The sea was still. The ship was still in view, but Oliver could barely make it out. Had Sara escaped? Where would she go? Where would they go?

            There were few supplies in the lifeboat, which was big enough to old three, maybe four people. He would be able to stretch it out, perhaps make it last for a week, but then there would be trouble. Where were they? He couldn’t tell, not yet. Once night fell again and the stars were out in more force, he could at least approximate a location.

            He checked the rudder of the boat. Eastward, then he would be headed. That was the best he could do, the best he could hope for. If Sara was here, she would have known. Where they were, how to get to land.

            _If Sara was here, you’d have less supplies to survive on._

            He shook his head to clear the awful thought away. That was the fear talking. There was no room for such things. Not now.

***

            He drifted onward. Hours passed and he dozed. Laurel was there with him, in the boat, looking beautiful and serene.

            “Ollie, what are you doing?”

            “Laurel? I—what? You can’t be here—”

            Laurel shrugged, her long hair cascading down her shoulders like water. “Doesn’t seem like that to me. Where’s my sister?”

            Oliver looked up at the sun. It was black, like an eclipse. He squinted into it, feeling the spray of the ocean and the heat of the day. “I couldn’t—the ship was going down, she told me to run, Laurel.” His voice caught. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”  
            Laurel smiled at him and shook her head. “Don’t apologize, Ollie. She’s tougher than that. You might want to look up now, though. You’re not going to want to miss what happens next.”

***

            Oliver’s eyes snapped open and he threw himself up, gasping. A dream. Of course it had been a dream. Something more alike to a hallucination, perhaps. What had she meant by not wanting to miss what would be happening next? Had it meant anything at all, or just been the idle ramblings of his fevered brain?

            But then he saw it an he knew just what it was that his vision had been trying to prepare him for. It was massive and it was drawing nearer with every second. A colossal ship, all black and gun-metal, bearing down on his tiny lifeboat. His first thought was rescue, that the agency had heard—perhaps Sara had gotten word out—but that thought only persisted for a moment. That was impossible. Even if she had managed to make contact, there was no way they would have been able to find him so quickly.

            And if they _had_ found him, this monstrosity of a ship was far removed from what they would send to retrieve him.

            Oliver knew that more than likely, whatever this ship was, it was not bearing good news.  A black freighter, advancing inexorably to collect him. He should run, there was no other choice. Yet there was nowhere to go. His lifeboat would never be able to take him far enough. They had, in all likelihood, already seen him.

            Minutes passed, and soon enough, there was a small boat being descended into the water, lowered down by a chain. Oliver could do nothing more than sit and watch helplessly as three armed men pulled the motor and cruised up beside his meager lifeboat, kicking up spray and sending him rocking back and forth.

            “Get out,” one of the men said. They were virtually indistinguishable, due to the black ski masks each wore. They were wearing full tactical gear and each had a gun trained on Oliver.

            He had no choice but to comply. Against this many men, unarmed, weak from his ordeal, he had no chance.

            He stood up, shakily trying to steady himself so that could maintain his balance and get into their small craft. They said nothing, just stood watching impassively, all of them visibly armed and threatening.

            “Is Sara alive?” Oliver asked, his voice hoarse. There was no reason to try and hide her name or her existence from the men. If they were behind the boat explosion, then they already knew about both him and Sara.

            “Sit down. Shut up.” The man gestured with his gun, and Oliver let himself fall to the bench on the side of the boat. He needed to accept that he would receive answers only when they wanted him to. It wasn’t supposed to have happened like this. It was supposed to have been easy.

***

            The masked men pulled him from the craft into the monstrous boat and dragged him through the levels of twisting corridors. Oliver did his best to pay attention, memorizing the landscape and layout, in hopes of a potential escape. But that seemed unlikely now. They hadn’t blindfolded him. That meant he was unlikely to be alive for much longer.

            Eventually, they brought him to a dark, dank room that smelled of mold and fear. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, hardly caring what they did to him.

            They slid open a cell door and roughly tossed him inside. He picked himself up onto his hands and knees and dragged himself to the small cot in the corner. “What do you want?” he croaked.

            “What do I want? That’s an interesting question. I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help me with that.”

            Oliver raised his head, noting the new figure that was now standing there. He had slicked back auburn hair, and a thick mustache of the same color. He was wearing a white button down shirt that was casually unbuttoned at the top, and he was staring at Oliver with poorly concealed malice. The man looked unhinged, dangerously so.

            Eddie Fyers.

            “You’re Fyers.” So this was it then. He was going to die. He wished that he could have a chance to say goodbye to the people who were important to him. Maybe just change one or two things.

            _Laurel…_

            “And you’re Oliver Queen.”

            Oliver felt the surprise register on his face before he could stop himself. That Fyers knew they were coming was obvious. But knowing his name?

            “Don’t look so surprised. You think I wouldn’t know the son of the great Robert Queen?”

            “You don’t know a damn thing about my father.” Oliver tried to growl. He failed.

            “I know far more than you’d think,” said Fyers. “And you’re going to help me find even more.”

            He turned and stalked in the opposite direction. Oliver forced himself to his feet and wrapped his hands tightly around the bars. _“Where’s Sara?”_ he screamed. _“What did you do with her?”_

            But there was no answer beyond the mocking laughter that followed Fyers out of the room. Oliver felt desperation clawing at his windpipe.

            _They’re going to come for me.  
            They’re going to come for _ us.

            _I’m going to die here, cold and alone, and no one will ever know what happened._

 

****

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading! I plan for each chapter to be around this length. Hopefully with less time between updates once summer is here. Let me know what you think. This is my first public fanfiction and any feedback is greatly appreciated.


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